Tremor
by AstroGirl
Summary: The events of 'The Deadly Assassin,' as seen by a Gallifreyan student called Romana.


**Tremor  
by AstroGirl**

Romanadvoratralundar walked into the common room, her head so full of diagrams and equations from the Temporal Physics lab she'd just left that she almost didn't hear her name being called.

"Romana! Romana!" She looked up, frowning. She considered it very rude not to bother taking the time to pronounce her full name. They were Time Lords, after all; there was no cause to be in a hurry. Well, perhaps it was some kind of emergency...

But no, it was only Cobrell from her Vortex Theory class, the one who was always trying to borrow her notes. He was standing with a group of other students in front of the common room's vis-screen, waving at her. "Come and see!"

Filing the formula she'd been working on neatly back into its place in her mind, she walked over, curious as to what it was they seemed so excited about. But when she caught sight of the face on the screen, she rolled her eyes. "You called me over to look at Runcible?" The man seemed to be on the broadcast system constantly, and she'd never heard him say anything worth listening to yet. She'd never been able to figure out why the Gallifreyan Media Authority had given him the commentator job in the first place. Probably he was related to someone.

"No, no!" said Cobrell. "Listen to what he's _saying_!"

She did, but he seemed to be droning on about robes at the moment. Cobrell eventually took pity on her rather than make her wait until the fashion commentary finished. "The Lord President's resigning. They just announced it."

"Oh." She supposed the excitement was understandable. There hadn't been a Presidential Resignation in their lifetimes. Still... "Well, he had to some time, I suppose."

"Not soon enough, if you ask me," said a girl Romana recognized as Vasania, a friend of Cobrell's, though she was several years behind them at the Academy. "I don't think they should let people on their last regeneration be President at all. What if he died in office, without naming a successor? Can you imagine having to go through all the chaos of an election?"

"Chaos!" Cobrell flicked a hand dismissively. "It'll be Goth, anyway. Everybody knows it. The President could keel over tomorrow; they'd just go ahead and give him the investiture."

"Everyone does _not_ know it," said Vasania primly. "Nothing is certain until there's been an official announcement."

"It'd be nice if it was someone younger." That was Avalred, who was ridiculously young himself, one of those prodigies who'd made third level in Advanced Quantum Manipulation by the time he was eighty-five. Not that Romana wouldn't have been capable of doing the same if she'd been willing to narrow down her fields of study. "We haven't had a President who was under a millennium since the days of Hastelrad."

On the vis-screen, Runcible, having failed to gain an interview with the Lord President or anyone on the High Council, was now speaking to someone's clerk. They seemed to be competing to see who could lay the most praise on the retiring President without ever actually mentioning his accomplishments. Probably because, as far as Romana was aware, there really _weren't_ any.

"I don't see that it matters much," she said. "The real function of the Presidency is symbolic, anyway. A strong central figure increases the sense of social stability in the general population. Most of the actual authority comes from the High Council, and most of _their_ actions are determined by tradition, but the President serves a purpose simply by existing. Meaning that anyone can do it." The others were giving her some odd looks. People often did when she started lecturing, she realized, but she didn't think there was anything wrong with having opinions, or with sharing knowledge when you happened to have it. "It's very basic political theory," she finished.

Vasania snorted a little. "_Theory_," she said. "You spend too much time buried up to your neck in textbooks. Theory's all well and good, but this is the real world."

"This is _Gallifrey_," said Avalred. "I'm not sure it's quite the same thing."

Romana would have liked to ask him exactly what he meant by that, but she was interrupted by the gentle chiming announcement indicating that the next learning period had started and she was about to be late for class. She excused herself and left.

But she found herself thinking about it at odd moments for the rest of the day.

* * *

_Slowly and with great ceremony, the President mounted the dais, the Resignation Honors list clutched in his hand. From the service gallery, the Doctor scanned the audience, until... There. A movement, from within the ranks of the High Council itself, the glint of a staser barrel catching the light. The Doctor grabbed the abandoned weapon that sat at his elbow, raised it, and fired at the assassin. But his perfectly-aimed shot failed to hit its mark; the gun, he realized, must have been tampered with. On the dais, the President crumpled and fell._

* * *

Later, everyone would claim to remember exactly where they were when the President was shot.

Romana was in the middle of her Trans-Dimensional Maths class, trying desperately to follow one of Professor Arataxial's rambling, disjointed proofs, when one of the Academy staff came rushing in, babbling something about the President and the Panopticon. The Professor, assuming at first that the fellow was simply eager to share the news of who had been named as Successor and unwilling to have his lecture interrupted for such trivialities, took umbrage and threatened to have him thrown out. But outrage faded into shock as it became clear what the man was trying to say. The President had been assassinated. Murdered.

A hush fell over the classroom, then broke apart into a babble of voices. After that it seemed no one could stop talking.

Of course there was no question of the lecture continuing. Even if the Professor hadn't deemed it worth canceling class for a Presidential Resignation, he had to concede that a Presidential assassination might be a marginally more important event.

Lacking any good idea of where to go -- as dashing over to the Capitol and offering her services on the basis of the Criminal Psychology class she'd taken once for fun seemed impractical -- she sought out the vis-screen in the common room again.

She quickly spotted a couple of familiar faces, lost now in the midst of a much larger crowd, and made her way over. "What have they been saying?" she asked, gesturing with her chin towards the screen.

"Not much," said Cobrell, not bothering with a greeting any more than Romana had. "He was stasered, apparently. Dead instantly. Borusa was on a while ago. Said they'd arrested someone, but wouldn't say who till they'd finished the investigation. And that an election was already being arranged. That was it. Now it's all eulogies. This one's been on for what feels like decades now," He waved a hand at the screen, where a short man in Prydonian robes was apparently attempting to determine exactly how many times it was possible to use the words "terrible" and "tragedy" in one sentence. "There's no real info at all. No video, either."

"I was watching when it happened," said Avalred. "There wasn't any video of the President. You couldn't see anything. It was just Runcible going on about something, and then suddenly people were running and screaming in the background. You could hear voices... It did sound like they arrested _somebody_. They haven't shown any of it again though. I don't think they're going to."

"Well, I'm sure the Castellan's men will get it sorted out," said Romana, but there was a note of uncertainty in her voice. She didn't especially like being deprived of information. It made all of one's conclusions suspect. Not that she expected that would stop anyone from drawing them.

* * *

_The Doctor was arrested for the murder, of course, and interrogated. But, in typical fashion, he was quickly able to find a loophole to temporarily gain his freedom, and soon began asking questions of his own..._

* * *

It seemed there were as many speculations, theories, and rumors as there were Time Lords on Gallifrey. The President had been killed by a political opponent. By an alien. By a renegade. By any combination of the three, or all of them in concert.

Even though the absence of any official word continued, no one seemed able to talk about anything else. Romana attended two classes during which a great deal of speaking and absolutely no teaching was done before she gave up and headed back to the common room.

There were rather fewer people there this time, though it seemed as if most of the ones who were had simply never bothered to leave. She found Cobrell and his friends sitting with a few others she knew less well, sipping from cups of hot kevberry juice. She dialed up a cup of her own and went to join them.

"I'm telling you," someone was saying -- a round-faced young man Romana knew slightly, having seen him about the Future History department. "I know it for a fact!" He leaned forward conspiratorially. "One of the members of my study group has a friend whose roommate is a member of the Chancellery Guard, and do you know what she says they found right outside the Capitol, just before it happened? An old time capsule, one of the Type 40 models. A time capsule belonging to the Doctor. You know, the famous Prydonian renegade? It _must_ have been him, mustn't it? It can't possibly be coincidence." He sat back with a smug expression.

"Doesn't seem hard to believe," said Cobrell. "They say he's completely brilliant, _and_ completely mad."

Vasania shook her head with a sad little frown. "It's just so horrible, isn't it? It's hard enough to imagine anyone being disloyal enough to want to leave Gallifrey in the first place, but to hate everything our society stands for enough to come back and do something like _this_?" She gave an elaborate shudder. "Horrible. They ought to round up all these renegades and vaporize them."

"Now, hang on," said Romana. "Regardless of what this Doctor might or might not have done -- and I don't think the word of someone's study partner's roommate's friend constitutes particularly solid evidence -- I don't think simply leaving Gallifrey is grounds for execution! Or even for accusations of disloyalty. I'd quite like to get off-planet for a bit myself, after graduation. I've applied to several research programs already."

Vasania sniffed at her. "Well, I'd think twice, if I were you. You know what they say: the ones who aren't mad when they go certainly are by the time they come back."

Romana bit back a cutting response. She had no idea why this girl annoyed her so much; she wasn't saying anything that wasn't a fairly common opinion, after all. Then again, possibly that was why.

She finished her drink in silence and left.

* * *

_The Master's plan had been unmasked and his puppet on the High Council was dead, but none of it mattered, for he had what he wanted at last. The Eye of Harmony was opening, and if it ripped Gallfirey apart and swallowed the pieces, what matter was that to him? As long as he was protected by the Sash he'd taken from the President's body, he would live. With the power of the Eye, he would live _forever. _He would be whole and powerful, never change and never die._

_Unless the Doctor interfered first, of course._

* * *

She was in the moderately busy corridor that connected the Sentient Studies Department with the Applied Temporal Mechanics Laboratory when the earthquake hit. The first sickening heave threw her back against a wall, narrowly missing one of the stone figures of the Academy's founders that lined the passage. She clutched frantically at the statue's ceremonial collar to steady herself as the building attempted to shake itself to pieces around her. Through a sudden haze of falling plaster dust, she could see others doing the same.

"What's happening?" someone shouted.

"It feels as if the world is ending!" someone else wailed.

"But it's _Gallifrey_!" She hadn't meant to respond; this sort of emotional outburst wasn't going to help the situation. But she found the reply escaping despite herself, in a strange echo of Avalred's earlier words.

This planet was supposed to be past its period of geological activity, its surface cold, quiet, and dead. "The stable rock upon which all of Time is anchored," as Rassilon had legendarily put it. So what could possibly cause--

Her line of thought cut off abruptly as a section of the ceiling caved in.

She heard a muffled scream as someone went down in an avalanche of gilded plaster and decorative wood. It was Professor Arataxial, she realized with a feeling of sickened shock. He lay face-down, his body hidden by debris, but she could see the top of his head, covered with his familiar thin, white hair. She watched with a sort of horrified fascination, expecting to see it shift and change at any moment as regeneration set in, but it never did.

When at last the shaking finally stopped and they were able to dig him out, it was clear he'd suffered only minor injuries. His face and his demeanor were exactly the same as they had been.

Romana found it almost incomprehensible that such an experience should lead to so little change.

* * *

_"Yes, indeed," said Borusa when it was all over. "I am quite conscious of the debt we owe the Doctor. But Gallifrey has never known such catastrophe, such devastation. What will we say?"_

_"Well, you'll just have to adjust the truth again, Cardinal," said the Doctor, rising to his feet. "How about subsidence owing to a plague of mice?"_

* * *

The next time-period, at last, there was an official announcement. In fact, for a while, nothing seemed to run on any vis-band except for Borusa's explanatory speech, over and over again. The Cardinal's face and voice were calm, almost matter-of-fact, as if recent events, while regrettable -- he used the word several times -- were scarcely worth dwelling on. Romana supposed it was meant to be reassuring. Personally, she found it patronizing.

When she realized she was watching it for the fourth time, she turned off the screen and went in search of company.

The usual group was in the common room, again. She was beginning to think they never went anywhere else. Not that she could blame them. With so much of the Academy grounds in ruins and an emergency travel restriction in place across the city, there wasn't much of anywhere to go, unless one wanted to sit in one's rooms and watch the news alone. That was, after all, the reason _she_ was here.

At least this room had largely escaped damage. Though the elaborate portraits of famous professors had fallen down and been re-hung rather carelessly, and the food dispenser had toppled onto its side, staining the carpet beneath it where something had leaked.

Her friends were sitting at a small table near the ruined machine. She pulled up a slightly dented chair and joined them. The conversation, unsurprisingly, quickly turned -- or, more likely, turned back -- to the contents of Borusa's speech.

"All right," said Vasania. "So it was this... this Master who killed the President, not the Doctor. I said it was a renegade, didn't I? I knew it was."

"Funny Borusa never even mentioned the Doctor's name," said Cobrell, "if he was involved."

"He was," said Avalred. "It's common knowledge. I even heard a rumor he was going to stand for President." He laughed. "Can you imagine? That would have shaken things up around here!"

"I think the earthquake did that quite nicely," said Romana dryly, to general, if somewhat wry, laughter.

"It would have been horrible," said Vasania. "It's bad enough having no president at all."

"You know," said Cobrell, "I'm not convinced the Doctor and the Master are separate people. I've heard stories about them... They sound a great deal alike to me. How do we know they're not just the same person with two different names?"

Avalred shook his head. "Professor Destarla taught both of them. I've talked to her about it. She says they were _very_ different. She says one would do anything at all to succeed, whether it was acceptable or even reasonable, and the other couldn't ever get over his own ego for long enough to accomplish much of anything."

"Really?" said Romana, with interest. "Which one was which?"

"You know... I'm really not sure!" He laughed again.

"Well, regardless," said Vasania. "I'm glad this Master's been dealt with."

"Yes," said Romana. "But what does that _mean_? Haven't you wondered? Borusa never did say what they'd actually done with him."

"Probably vaporized him," said Cobrell.

"Possibly," said Romana. "But in that case, why not tell us?"

Vasania made a disgusted face. "Really, who _wants_ to hear about the details of that sort of thing?"

"Oh, honestly." Romana was starting to wish she'd stayed in her room, after all. "Don't you have any interest at all in the workings of your own government?"

"Not as long as it works, no. Given that it has since the time of Rassilon, I'm not too worried about it now."

"What I'm wondering about," said Cobrell, interrupting before Romana could get out a response, "is the earthquake. I mean... Do we really believe Borusa's explanation about the Master having transported alien vermin that undermined the foundations of the city?"

Avalred snorted. "I don't know... Seems a bit far-fetched, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does to me, too," said Romana. "I don't see what else it could have been, though."

"Well, _I_ find it easy to believe," said Vasania. "Travel enough and you're bound to come back with something nasty. Although I would hardly put it past him to have done it deliberately. At any rate, if the murderer's been dealt with, and if, as Borusa says, the vermin or whatever they were have all been eliminated, then at least it's all over and things are finally back to normal. I'd say that's the important thing."

Cobrell glanced around the room, his gaze lingering on the toppled food machine, and smiled. "I wouldn't call this 'back to normal' just yet, but once the cleanup's done, it _will_ be a relief. I've got an important Temporal Dynamics paper to do, and my advisor's trapped in his quarters! His doorway fell in, apparently, and the transmat system's still offline, so he can't get out. He was so traumatized he wouldn't even talk to me on the comms. Says he's going to stay in bed until everything's been rebuilt."

Romana's fingers picked absently at a bit of loose trim on the table, obviously dislodged during the quake. "Do you think it _is_ over, though? I mean, so much damage, so many unanswered questions... Surely there has to be, I don't know, something _more_?"

Avalared laughed. "Are you joking? Events like this happen on Gallifrey maybe once every ten thousand years. This is probably the only significantly exciting event there'll ever be in our lifetimes. I wouldn't hold my breath waiting for anything more." He didn't sound as if he liked the idea much, but he did sound resigned.

Romana sighed. "Yes. Yes, I suppose you're right." She smiled a little and let the subject drop.

But still, she couldn't help but wonder. If there _were_ exciting events, on Gallifrey or elsewhere, would one ever see them from a vis-screen at all?


End file.
